


to punch a nazi

by gabrielledarling



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Nazi-Punching, bathtub-sitting, like seriously tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 19:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielledarling/pseuds/gabrielledarling
Summary: Looking back, his choice of words was borderline hilarious. Or it would have been, if Enjolras hadn’t currently been sitting on Grantaire's closed toilet-lid, holding an ice pack to his bruised fist and glaring at Grantaire. “You didn’t tell me it would hurt so much!”Grantaire was affronted. “Was that my job? How was I supposed to know you’d go and punch a Nazi?”





	to punch a nazi

**Author's Note:**

> Some fluffy indulgence on Valentine's Day.

Enjolras was swearing like a sailor.

Grantaire knew the bruise had to be bad; Enjolras only cursed when it was absolutely necessary. He’d even explained his rationale in front of his friends, when Courfeyrac—whose dirty mouth rivaled only Grantaire’s own—asked him why he never cursed.

“If you hardly ever swear,” Enjolras had said, “you pack more of a punch when you do.”

Looking back, his choice of words was borderline hilarious. Or, it would have been, if Enjolras hadn’t currently been sitting on Grantaire's closed toilet-lid, holding an ice pack to his bruised fist and glaring at Grantaire. “You didn’t tell me it would hurt so much!”

Grantaire was affronted. “Was that my job? How was I supposed to know you’d go and punch a Nazi?”

“He’s Enjolras,” said Courfeyrac, and if Grantaire wasn't so irritated, he knew that would have been his line. Courfeyrac handed Enjolras a block of ice wrapped in a dishtowel. "Here's your substitute ice-pack. Grantaire doesn't own any real ones."

Grantaire turned back to Enjolras. "What makes you think I’ve punched anyone?”

“You haven’t?” Enjolras looked genuinely surprised. Grantaire hated him; even after getting into a fistfight at a protest, he still looked perfect. Angelic, even. His blonde hair had come undone and lay, curled, across his shoulders.

“No!” Grantaire said. “Had you? Before today?"

“No,” Enjolras said, like, _duh_. “But I just figured…I dunno."

Grantaire crossed his arms. "What, that I get into fights on a regular basis?"

Enjolras shook his head. "You just...give off that energy. You know."

"Don't-fuck-with-me energy," Courfeyrac supplied from the doorway.

"Yeah, that." Enjolras nodded.

"Oh," Grantaire said, his irritation deflating slightly. "Okay."

Enjolras looked at up him, suddenly anxious. "D'you think they'll figure out who I am?"

Courfeyrac looked nervous. "I saw a few people with cameras. Like, just phones and stuff. I don't know if they'll be able to figure out it was you from that, though. And the Nazi dude definitely didn't see you coming."

Grantaire shook his head, dropping onto the rim of his bathtub. "You're good, Enjolras. The street was so packed; there's no way someone got you on camera as it happened. And even if somebody did, I doubt the Nazi'll go to the police. Since he's...you know. A Nazi."

Relief shone on Enjolras' face, and without warning, he reached forward and grabbed Grantaire's hand. "Oh, good."

"Hold your ice," Grantaire said, suddenly tongue-tied.

"S'fine," Enjolras said, glancing down at the makeshift ice-pack sitting atop his bruised hand.

Courfeyrac snorted. "Even our fearless leader doesn't want to go to jail."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'd prefer to avoid it, if possible."

He was still holding onto Grantaire's hand. Grantaire could practically feel his palm's sweat glands coming to life.

Courfeyrac cleared his throat. "M'kay, I know this is really serious and all, but I'm so fucking hungry. Protesting really takes it outta me. Where’s your kitchen, ‘Taire?"

"I don't have any food in there, unless you want leftover frozen pizza," Grantaire said, trying extremely hard not to focus on the warmth of Enjolras' hand on his own.

"Then I'm going out," Courfeyrac said. "'Taire, you've got a Mickey D's down the street, right? Enjolras, _don't_."

Enjolras closed his mouth, no doubt about to spout a lecture on the dangers of the corporate fast-food industry.

"Yeah," Grantaire said. "Get me some fries, will ya?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but didn't let go. Grantaire was beginning to get concerned. If he had a premature heart attack, would Enjolras be able to dial 9-1-1 with his bruised hand?

"Will do. No funny business, now," Courfeyrac said, and winked, before disappearing from the door.

"Courf," Enjolras said, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Grantaire said, trying not to sound breathless.

Enjolras looked down at their hands. "This is...cool with you, right? I didn't really ask."

Grantaire's breath caught. "No, you didn't."

Enjolras' mouth opened, then closed. "Oh. Sorry," he said, and pulled his hand away—

"No," Grantaire said, grasping Enjolras' fingers once more. "No, it's fine. I just meant...no, you didn't ask. We're friends. It's fine."

Enjolras nodded. "I just like to ask. You know. Some people don't really like to be touched."

"Yeah, I…" Grantaire started, then paused as he realized something. "I thought you didn't like to be touched. Usually."

"Yeah," Enjolras said, glancing at their hands once more. "But, you know...I don't mind. When I start it."

"You mean when you hold someone's hand?"

"I don't mind when it's yours," Enjolras said quickly, and he was blushing. Blushing. Enjolras.

Was Grantaire hallucinating? "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Enjolras said, blushing harder.

"You're sure you didn't get, like, a head injury back there?"

"What?" Enjolras said, puzzled. "No. No, no."

"You're flirting with me," Grantaire said slowly.

Enjolras' face was on fire. "...Yes?"

" _Yes?"_ Grantaire said. "Wait, seriously?"

Enjolras' face fell. "You're uncomfortable. I made you uncomfortable—I'm sorry, I—,"

"No! No," Grantaire said, squeezing Enjolras' hand for good measure. "You didn't. I mean, I'm uncomfortable, but I'm always. I mean. I'm awkward, but I'm fine. You can flirt. And I'll do it back. Or I'll try."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "Was that…"

"Yes," Grantaire said, nodding far too enthusiastically. "Yes. Flirt with me."

Enjolras' dimples showed, and Grantaire's heart, like the Grinch's, swelled to three times its regular size. He held his breath as Enjolras got up and sat next to him on the edge of the bathtub, never letting go of his hand.

"I like your hair," he said, reaching toward Grantaire's hair with his other hand. "It's all...messy and curly…"

"Your ice!" Grantaire said, letting go of Enjolras' hand and leaning over to catch the wrapped-up dishcloth with one hand as it slipped off Enjolras' knee. But as he straightened, he felt Enjolras' good hand on his cheek, and then he was falling into a gentle kiss.

Of _course_ Enjolras kissed gentle, Grantaire thought giddily, feeling the hand on his cheek move to the back of his neck. He kissed softly, carefully, like Grantaire was a chance he didn't want to waste. Grantaire dropped the makeshift ice-pack on the floor and leaned into Enjolras' body, still warm from the sunny protest. He was wearing a t-shirt, and Grantaire held onto his slender, tanned forearm with one hand, sneaking the other around his waist.

Enjolras made a startled noise, and suddenly Grantaire's mouth was open, and Enjolras' tongue was on his bottom lip, and—

"I got you two large fries because I know—whoa! Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!"

Grantaire broke away from Enjolras to see Courfeyrac over his shoulder, holding up an arm to cover his face. In his other hand, a brown bag with a giant, yellow M.

"Thanks, Courf," Enjolras said, voice somewhat higher than usual.

Courfeyrac just nodded, still holding his forearm over his eyes. "Okay. I'm leaving the fries in the kitchen. And I'm going now. Goodnight. I mean, goodbye. I mean—"

"Thanks, Courf," Grantaire said.

Courfeyrac gave them a blind thumbs-up, turned, and closed the door.

Enjolras turned back, a shy smile lighting his features. "Wanna go get your fries?"

"Fuck my fries," Grantaire said, and leaned back in.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you feel inspired to do so! I'm a slave to feedback.


End file.
